


The Fourth Chamber Of My Heart

by WolfesPuppies



Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Arguing, Awkward Conversations, Cats, Character Death, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Meetings, Friends With Benefits, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hostage Situations, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury, Jealousy, Letters, M/M, Moving In Together, Platonic Cuddling, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Weddings, You know who it is, mention of execution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2020-12-31 20:21:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21151658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfesPuppies/pseuds/WolfesPuppies
Summary: Nic and Zara (and Wolfe) over the years





	1. First Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> This perhaps hasn't turned out quite as I'd hoped, but I still like it. I hope you do too!
> 
> I am back on my bullshit with using Elbow as titles - this is from This Blue World, 'while three chambers of my heart beat true and strong with love for another/the fourth is yours forever'.

Training Sergeant Niccolo Santi is finding it hard to not grin every time he catches a glimpse of the new gold Library band around his wrist. _Gold!_ Even Vittorio only got silver, a ten year contract, and that’s something Nic has taken great pleasure in teasing his older brother about. Only three of the six in Nic’s postulant class had earned gold bands too, himself and two Scholars. Nic takes one last looks at himself in the small mirror in the corner of his new room at the High Garda barracks and takes a deep breath, ready to meet the soldiers he would be training for the next few months. He knew their names already, had taken careful note of them when they’d been delivered to the new blank he’d been given specifically for the purpose of training, and looked forward to putting faces to names.

Nic checks he has everything he needs before leaving his room to head to the training grounds where his squad is due to meet for the first time. He’s been summoned first, presumably because of his marginally higher rank, and it wouldn’t do to be late on his first day, but that means he arrives five minutes before his captain does, and spends those five minute at an uneasy parade rest, unsure of what to do. He’s got to the point of shifting his weight from one foot to the other by the time the captain arrives, and Nic snaps to attention as soon as he sees her.

“At ease, soldier.” She laughs a little. Captain Sharpe had almost taken Nic under her wing during his special Garda training in the postulant class, and he’s glad to see her again, and tells her so.

“There was never any doubt you’d end up here.” She assures him. “From the first session, you were born to be in the Garda.”

Nic ducks his head, trying to hide his smile and his flush at the praise. “I’m excited to start.” He admits.

“Well excellent, here comes your squad.” Sharpe nods over his shoulder, and Nic turns to see a group walking over the training ground to them. This is his first real test, his first chance to impress and his first chance to show that he can lead, and suddenly there’s a pit in his stomach, deep and growing as his new squad advances. Luckily, Sharpe takes the lead and gives Nic the chance to calm himself down before he has to speak to them.

“Recruits, welcome to your first day of training. This is Training Sergeant Niccolo Santi, he will be in charge of you for the next few months.” Sharpe stands aside and cedes control to Nic as he takes a deep breath and steps forward.

“Welcome-“ Nic’s voice cracks on the first word, and he flushes red immediately. The recruits in front of him stifle laughs, except for one, a young woman stood at the end with flashing green eyes, who laughs outright.

“Welcome.” This time it goes smoothly, and he can continue, although he suspects this is something he will never live down. “I’m looking forward to training with you, and getting to know you better.”

That’s all he gets chance to say, before Captain Sharpe steps forward once again. “Time for your first test. Run to the carrier-“ she points to the carrier parked at the opposite end of the field “-collect your packs, and run back. Last one gets a punishment. Off you go. All of you.”

Nic startles a little, and is the last one to set off, but his long legs are more than a match for the slight head start by the others and he soon draws equal with the pack, finding himself next to the one who had laughed at him so openly.

“Zara Cole.” She offers between deep, even breaths. She’s a natural runner, even more so than Nic, and makes it look easy. She gives him a sideways glance and he barely sees her smirk before she speeds up. “See you at the carrier!”

Nic grins. He’s always been one for competition, and this woman seems to be the same. He increases his own speed to match, and they reach the carrier at the same time, leaning over and putting hands on knees for a second before the rest of the group catch up. The soldier in the back gives them a smile and their packs and sends them back to Captain Sharpe. The run back seems twice as long with the packs weighing heavily on their backs, but Nic and the woman – Zara – beat the rest of the group by a comfortable margin.

“Thanks for the challenge, if that’s what you consider a challenge.” Zara grins at him. Sharpe laughs outright at the comment.

“Is that how this is? Remember I’m your commanding officer.” Nic replies jokingly, earning him another bright laugh from Sharpe, and a scoff from Zara.

“That’s how this is.” She confirms, a smirk playing on her lips, and Nic is only stopped from replying by the rest of the squad arriving breathless and panting. Sharpe gestures to Nic to take command and he does, stepping up to address the group.

“Good effort, but I do believe a punishment was promised to the person who came last?” The soldier in question steps forward. “Name?”

“Idris Moss, sir.”

“Moss, good to meet you. Give me ten push ups.” Moss groans slightly but drops their pack before dropping to the floor. To their credit, they get them done much quicker than Nic would have been able to, and re-joins the group.

“Alright recruits, open your packs.” Sharpe orders, and they all do as they are told. Lying at the top is a Library issue armoured coat, light flexible plates sewn into the lining to provide protection, and beneath is their first standard issue firearm.

“First lesson. Proper gun discipline.” Sharpe again cedes control to Nic, and he steps up readily. He’d been expecting this, had spent one of his practise sessions during his postulancy covering the subject in excruciating detail, and he plans to do exactly the same here.

* * *

It’s the end of their first month of training, and Nic makes the executive decision to organise a night of drinking with his fellow soldiers. He’s been in Alexandria the longest, and knows the best places to go. Nic and Zara are the last two standing, stumbling through the streets, leaning on each other as they go.

“Y’re beautiful.” Zara slurs, swerving to the side and over-correcting to send Nic stumbling into a wall.

“Not so bad yourself.” Nic replies, equally slurred. Zara stops suddenly and turns to face him.

“Kiss me.” She demands.

“Can’t. Commanding off’cer.” Nic explains, although right at this moment, Zara’s green eyes shining in the moonlight, he can’t think of anything he’d like to do more.

“Don’t care. Kiss me.” She pushes him back slightly and Nic fetches up against a wall. He leans his head back for a second, contemplating his life choices and where this could go if they were found, and then decides he doesn’t care, and leans forward to catch her mouth in his. It’s sloppy and wet and far from the best kiss he’s ever had, but now, there, in the dark outside a random building, it seems perfect. It’s more than a few seconds before Nic remembers they’re outside, in a fairly public street, and pulls away.

“Let’s go back.” He suggests, hoping Zara will take it in the way he intends. Her smirk and nod suggests she does, and was thinking along the same lines herself. The walk back takes rather longer than it should, and by the time they get back to the barracks, they’re both is a mild state of disarray, and it’s the work of a moment to decide to go to Nic’s room – it’s closer and bigger, perks of his rank. The door barely shuts behind them before Zara has Nic pressed up against it and he’s pulling her shirt over her head as she attacks his belt buckle with fingers made clumsy by drink and haste. They stumble towards the bed, falling onto it as they try and fail to be quiet.

Nic wakes first the next morning, head pounding and mouth tasting like something has crawled into it and died. He groans with feeling, and stretches out to grab a pillow to cover his eyes from the light, and freezes when he hits a person instead, before turning his head to see who it is.

“Oh fuck.”

Zara wakes with a start, and echoes Nic when she realises the situation, pulling the sheet over herself a little in a futile effort to cover herself before realising that doesn’t really matter anymore and letting the sheets fall. Nic is on the side facing into the rest of the room, and he slides off the bed and finds some trousers as he considers where to go from here.

“This-“

“Didn’t mean anything.” Zara says casually. “We’re friends, we find each other attractive, we got drunk.”

“Right. It didn’t mean anything.” Nic is more relieved than he cares to admit that Zara feels the same way. He does find the woman attractive, her sharp green eyes and sharper wit exactly the kind of thing he looks for in a person, but there’s something holding him back, something he can’t quite put his finger on, but he suspects it may be something to do with the cocksure, insecure boy he met in his postulant class, one of the Scholars to get a gold band. “Just friends.”

“Just friends.” Zara confirms as she gets up and finds her own clothes. “I’ll leave first, go back to my room and get changed. Meet for breakfast?”

Nic checks the time and his Codex, and sighs. “Can’t. I have a meeting with the captain in half an hour, I should have a shower.” He’s aware his hair is a mess and his lower lip is still a little swollen from where Zara bit it in the middle of the night, and would quite like to appear before his captain in a presentable state.

“Fair enough.” Zara hesitates for a second, as though she’s going to kiss him again, before stepping around him and heading to the door. “See you at training.” And she’s gone, leaving Nic standing in his trousers in the middle of his room, holding his shirt and feeling slightly wrong-footed at the entire situation. He stands there for a few seconds more before shaking his head and gathering his things to go to the shower, where he discovers Zara must be as enthusiastic in bed as she is on the training ground, judging by the scratches on his back. He’s perfectly on time to his meeting with the captain, but is in her office for less than thirty seconds before she demands he tell her what’s bothering him.

“What?”

“You’re not as subtle as you think you are. There’s something bothering you, out with it.”

Nic open his mouth and then shuts it again, unsure of what happens if one sleeps with a fellow recruit.

“Is this about you and Private Cole last night?”

The matter of fact way Sharpe mentions it doesn’t stop Nic’s heart from sinking to his feet. Even the captain laughing at what must be a terrified expression on Nic’s face doesn’t help.

“Look, Niccolo, it’s not uncommon. In fact, I’d be more surprised if none of you slept together. You’re all physically fit young people, in close quarters, spending a lot of time together. It only becomes an issue if your personal life comes between the squad.”

“It won’t.” Nic assures her, perhaps a little too earnestly, and she laughs again.

“You’re a good soldier, and a better leader. You’ll do well here, and a little thing like sleeping with another soldier isn’t going to affect a thing.” She reassures him, somehow knowing exactly what he needs to hear.

Nic bites his lip for a second, thinking for a second. “But I’m a higher rank…”

“Doesn’t matter. That only matters when you become part of the Garda proper, and only then if you get put in the same squad.”

Nic nods, finally fully reassured. “Thank you Captain.”

“It’s okay. You need to get better at keeping a straight face though. I could read your emotions all over your face.”

Nic blushes, proving Sharpe’s point.

* * *

In the months left of their training, if Nic and Zara sleep together more than a few times, well no one needs to know. No one needs to know how glad Nic is that they get put in the same squad after training, and he has a reason to call it off.


	2. Arguments.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, two chapters at once! Some of you have already seen the first half of this.

Santi wakes in a Medica tent, cool and comfortable with two familiar faces either side of his bed.

"My two favourite people" he slurs slightly. It takes a few seconds for their stormy expressions to filter through the haze of painkillers dampening the pain in his thigh down to a dull ache, but when it does, he sighs.

"What did you say?" He doesn't address it to either of them specifically, but they both scowl. It takes a few seconds for something else to occur to Santi.

"Wait, you two haven't met yet."

"We have now." That's Christopher, arms crossed and glaring across the bed.

"He's even more arrogant in person." That's Zara, sat on the right and glaring back, although hers isn't quite up to the standards of the Scholar.

It's then that the third thing occurs to Santi.

"Chris, why are you even here?" That gets his attention, and when Christopher turns the scowl slides off his face like water off a duck's back. It's Zara who answers first though.

"Apparently the captain thought you deserved to know."

"Why wouldn't I deserve to know?"

"You're-

"Now I'm remembering why I haven't introduced you to each other yet." Santi says flatly, interrupting whatever Zara was going to say.

"He doesn't belong in a warzone!"

"I can take care of myself, I don't need to be coddled, thank you very much."

"But now we have to dedicate time and attention we don't have to making sure you don't get yourself killed. Scholars don't belong in a warzone."

"I'm not in a warzone, I'm three miles behind the lines in a Medica tent. I don't need coddling."

Santi groans inwardly and attempts to push himself up his bed, but in his haste he uses the wrong leg, and the bullet wound in his thigh makes itself known with a vengeance. He collapses back onto his pillows with a bitten-off gasp and half a curse.

"Nic!" This comes from both Zara and Christopher at the same time, and effectively stops their arguing.

"Nice to know you agree on something." Santi groans through gritted teeth, eyes closed as he fights through the pain. It takes him a few seconds, but he finally manages it.

"Zara, Chris is right, he doesn't need to be coddled. Chris, Zara is right, I'm glad you're here, but you probably shouldn't be. So, Zara, I'm going to ask you to leave so I can have a few minutes with Christopher before I make him leave as well."

"But-"

"Zara."

"Fine. Sir." She says it grudgingly, but she says it and gets up to leave. Santi suspects he'll pay for pulling rank on her at some point in the near future, but that's not a concern right now.

Christopher waits until she's gone to speak again. "I don't know why you're friends with her."

"Oh, don't start. She reminds me a lot of you actually. You're both as stubborn as an ox, and you both love me." Santi grins, but suspect it's half-hearted at best, the adrenaline from the pain going as quickly as it came.

"You have a high opinion of yourself there."

"S'true though."

"It is."

Santi turns his hand up on the bed and is rewarded by Chris taking it in his own.

"I'm glad you're here.”

“I’m starting to think you like being shot.”

Santi laughs a little. “Only because I get to wake up to you. It doesn’t happen enough.”

“We should change that.”

“Mm, we should.” Santi feels like he should pay more attention to that statement, but he’s starting to drift again, the painkillers pulling him back down into sleep.

“Sleep, Nic. I’ll see you when you get home.” The last thing Santi feels is the gentle press of lips to the back of his hand.

* * *

Wolfe steps outside the Medica tent to find Zara stood to one side, apparently waiting for him.

“Private.” Wolfe makes to brush past her on his way back to the carrier that had brought him from the Translation Chamber he’d come through after getting the news about Santi.

“Scholar.” Zara unfolds her arms and moves to step in front of him.

“Is there something you need? I thought you didn’t want me here.”

“I don’t. You shouldn’t have come. He doesn’t need you.”

“Ah.” Wolfe suddenly understands Zara’s animosity towards him. Santi has told him of their previous – he hadn’t called it a relationship, but now, Zara’s eyes burning into him, Wolfe gets the impression that’s exactly how she had seen it, even if Santi hadn’t. “And he needs you?”

Zara doesn’t reply, but her expression makes it clear enough what she thinks.

“I understand you have a past. I understand you work together. I won’t come in between you, but he chose me.”

“For some reason.” Zara mutters, but Wolfe still hears it.

“For some reason? What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t like you, Scholar-“

“I’d noticed.” Wolfe says dryly, interrupting Zara which only makes her scowl even larger.

“I don’t like you. You’re arrogant, impulsive, immature, and Nic deserves better.”

“He does.” Wolfe is in absolute agreement that the man he loves deserves better than he, knows he is everything Zara said and more. “But he _chose_ me. You’re simply bitter because he chose me over you.”

“You always get what you want, don’t you?”

Wolfe frowns. He suspects he knows exactly what Zara is getting at but would still like confirmation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Mother as powerful as yours, makes a person wonder what she’d do for her child.”

There it is, exactly as Wolfe thought, brushing against the edge of thoughts he’s had himself since he gained entry into the postulant class, and even before that if he’s being completely honest. He’d dearly love to know where she found out who his mother is though, it’s not exactly common knowledge.

Wolfe raises an eyebrow. “My mother sent me away when I was ten. I’ve seen her twice since then.” His tone is flat. He has no desire to reveal his life story to this woman in front of him, but she is Nic’s friend, and if, by all the gods, Nic decides to make this relationship a long term thing, she will become a feature in his life too. “Who told you?”

Zara shrugs. “Heard it around the barracks.” She’s carefully dismissive, and Wolfe has a sinking thought. But no, Nic wouldn’t. He knows Wolfe’s feelings about his family. Wolfe keeps his expression carefully blank.

“My mother has had no bearing on my life since then, and had little influence before. She may be powerful, but that doesn’t mean she gives a single damn about me.” This is more than he wished to say, but Wolfe is determined to prove that his mother has nothing to do with his life. Whether he’s trying to convince Zara or himself more is a thought he’s not willing to entertain. “May I go? As you’ve said a number of times today, I don’t belong in a war zone.”

Zara steps to the side to let him past without a word, and Wolfe sweeps away to the waiting carrier, Zara’s words and his own thoughts swirling in a mess in his head.

* * *

Santi returns home three days later, after an argument with his captain, in which Santi said he was okay to continue with the mission, and his captain brandished reports from three separate Medica staff that stated he was categorically _not_ to continue with the mission. His captain won.

The minute he gets home, Santi sends a message to Wolfe, and then collapses on the sofa. He’s only had his little house a few months, but it feels like home already, and Wolfe is starting to treat it as such as well, and Santi can see little things of his love spread about – a blank, a sheaf of paper, some schematics, which cements the question he’s going to ask when Wolfe arrives. He’s starting to fall asleep by the time there’s a knock on the door before it opens – he’d given Wolfe a key a few weeks before.

“Hi.” Santi smiles at Wolfe, who smiles back, soft and sweet.

“Hello. Don’t get up.” He teases a little, coming to sit down next to Santi. “How’s the leg?”

“Mmm, better than it was.”

“Good.” With that, Wolfe leans over to kiss Santi thoroughly, a hand on each cheek. Santi’s leg injury prevents the more enthusiastic endeavours they normally engage in when one or the other returns from a trip away, so instead Wolfe sinks to his knees in front of the sofa.

Later, when they’re curled up together, Santi is about to speak, to ask the question that’s been burning since Wolfe walked in the door, when he talks first.

“Nic?”

“Yes?”

Wolfe is silent for a few seconds, and Santi almost goes ahead with his own question before he speaks again.

“Did you tell Zara who my mother is?”

“I-yes.” Santi doesn’t see the point in lying, but wishes he had when Wolfe gets up, the loss of the warmth of his body acute.

“I wish you hadn’t.”

“I didn’t know it was a secret. I tell Zara everything.” Santi is confused. When they’d had the conversation a few weeks before, Wolfe hadn’t said anything to indicate it was something to be kept between the two of them.

“Did it not occur to you I might not want people knowing my mother is the Obscurist Magnus?”

It hadn’t. It hadn’t even crossed Santi’s mind. “I-no.”

Wolfe’s shoulders droop, and even though he’s facing the other way, Santi can read him like a book. He levers himself up off the sofa and limps over to Wolfe, hugging him from behind.

“I’m sorry, Chris. I didn’t know it was that important to you.”

Wolfe doesn’t answer at first, doesn’t even react to Santi’s arms around him, and then he finally speaks. “When people find out who I’m related to, they judge me, judge my work. They think I don’t deserve any of it.”

“Is this what you and Zara argued about?”

Wolfe turns in Santi’s arms, puts his arms around his shoulders. “Not at first. But when I left you, she was waiting for me, and we argued again.”

Santi sighs, leans his forehead to rest against Wolfe’s for a second. “I don’t care who your mother is. I love you, Christopher, for everything _you_ are. I’ll talk to Zara, let her know not to tell anyone else. I’m sorry. I should have asked before saying anything.”

“I know how close you are to her, and I’ll never come in between that, but there’s some things I’d rather stay between us.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.” Santi apologises again. He extracts himself from Wolfe’s arms and limps back over to the sofa, surprised when Wolfe follows him and curls up next to him again.

“I love you Nic, this doesn’t change that.” Wolfe links their hands together. “Just-“

“Discuss things first?”

“Discuss things first.”

“Alright.” Santi is quiet for a moment. “On the subject of discussing things.” He begins hesitantly.

“Hmm?”

“Did you mention something about wanting to wake up together more often?” He is surprised when Wolfe ducks his head, a shy smile at the corner of his lips. Shy and nervous isn’t a look he’s seen on his love before, and it suits him.

“Maybe. I wasn’t sure if you’d remember.”

“Move in with me.”

Wolfe blinks once, twice, three times. “What.”

“Move in with me. There’s enough room, you’re here a lot of the time already. It makes sense.”

“Okay.”

It’s Santi’s turn to blink. “Really? You really want to?”

“Yes.” Wolfe is grinning now, eyes bright, all of his previous despondency gone. “Yes, I want this.”

Santi grins back, his heart feeling three times bigger, and he leans in to kiss Wolfe, before pulling back for a second to say “Zara will hate this.”

Wolfe only laughs and pulls him in for another kiss.


	3. The Smarter Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to include this originally, because I didn't think it fitted very well with the rest of it. But I really like it, so fuck it, you're getting it.

The mission is going terribly. The Scholar they’re meant to be protecting is injured, as are two other members of the squad, the originals they’re meant to be rescuing are still in the hands of the Welsh, and the squad is effectively pinned down.

“Shit.” Santi swears with a sigh. “We’re fucked.”

“Not that bad, surely?” Zara is optimistic about their odds, but a look from Santi quells that at once.

“We’re not getting out of this. Time to take the smarter path. Zara, you’re my second, Lynch, you have command until we get back.”

Santi starts rummaging in his pack for a pole and a flag, and Zara finally realises his plan.

“You’re going to surrender?!”

“I have a plan.”

“But-“

“I know what I’m doing, Zara.”

Zara hesitates before nodding. “You’re making a mistake.”

“Possibly.” Santi grins, and ties the white flag to the end of the pole and raises it high. The gunshots end almost immediately, and he waits a second before peeking over the barricade. The Welsh are looking over to them, confused and a little hopeful.

“A meeting with your leader!” Santi shouts over the field, and the Welsh discuss among themselves for a few minutes before replying.

“You and one other. Leave your weapons behind.”

“You leave yours behind too.” The Welsh consider, and nod their acquiescence.

**Santi **(mostly) disarms. The Welsh don’t need to know about the knife hidden in his boot, or the one up his sleeve, and he’s fairly certain they’ll have taken similar precautions. He instructs Zara to removes all her weapons however – he can take the risk, he’s squad leader, but can’t let his soldiers take it as well. She gives him a sideways glance but does as he says. Once sorted, he takes up the flag again and stands from behind their barricade, the Welsh mirroring them.

They meet in the middle of the field, both sides tense and guarded.

“Sergeant Santi.” He introduces himself. “This is my second, Private Cole.”

“Lieutenant Hughes.” His counter-part answers. His voice is pleasant, melodic rise and fall so typical of the Welsh. “This is Private Green. Now. What’s this about?”

“I wonder if we can’t come to some kind of agreement.”

“An agreement? With the Library?” Hughs’ tone suggests exactly what he thinks of that idea.

“Not with the Library. With me.”

“Are you not part of the Library? Would an agreement with you not be an agreement with the Library??”

“I doubt they’d agree with my plan.”

Santi can tell that this interests Hughes, a raised eyebrow showing his surprise.

“I’m intrigued, Sergeant.”

“We have injured soldiers, and an injured Scholar. We cannot continue this fight. You have injured too, I’m sure.”

Hughes nods in agreement.

“But we cannot give up, and I’m sure you feel the same. However, we’ll allow you free passage through, if you give up the originals in your possession.”

“What stops you from killing us when we’re half-way through?”

This is the bit Santi suspects no one will like, least of all him. “Take me as hostage until the last of your men are through. I’m high ranking enough to be of worth, and the Library won’t fire if they know I’m with you.” He sees Zara start to protest beside him, and shoots her a look that stops any argument in its tracks.

Hughes considers the proposal for a long moment.

“We don’t give you the books until we’re through, then we’ll give them to you to take back.”

There’s issues with this plan that Santi sees at once, but he cannot see any other way to the end goal, and so he nods once.

“Fine.”

Hughes nods. “I accept your proposal then. Contact your Library to tell them, and we’ll ready our men to move.”

Santi turns to Zara, who opens her mouth.

“No.” Santi says in Italian, their shared language not understood by the Welsh. “The smarter path. Go back, let them know what’s happening, message me when the okay comes through.”

Zara is clearly unhappy with the plan, but nods anyway and turns to leave. Santi turns back to Hughes, who has procured a set of restraints.

**“You** understand, I’m sure.” He says, gesturing towards Santi’s wrists.

“They’re not necessary.” Santi hedges, knowing that if they’re applied, Hughes will feel the knife up his sleeve.

“They are.” Hughes’ tone this time is steely, brooking no defiance. “And we’ll need to search you too. You understand.”

“I’m unarmed, as promised.”

“And yet you’re hesitating, which makes me think you’re not.” Hughes’ genial temperament has turned sharp, and Santi can see the man makes for a good soldier. “I’m starting to think you have a bigger plan, Sergeant.”

Santi considers for a second, before accepting there is no other way. If he rescinds the offer, it’s likely they won’t last the night. If he keeps refusing, the weapons that Hughes no doubt has on him will be used, and the same if he tries to run. The man is a good tactician, and has Santi exactly where he wants him. Santi nods once and spreads his arms

Hughes’ second, Green, searches Santi with quick efficiency, and, as expected, soon finds the knives secreted away.

“As I suspected.” Hughes doesn’t seem surprised at all. “Turn around please, and hands behind your back.”

“I need to be able to access my Codex, for the message confirming free passage.” This time Santi has the upper hand, slight as it may be. Hughes needs confirmation before he can move his men, won’t risk it without. Hughes grits his teeth.

“Fine.”

Santi holds his hands out and tries to hide the vein of nervousness that runs through him as the restraints close on his wrists, over his gold band. He trusts enough in his own abilities to be able to get out of them, if the need should arise, but he’s also quickly becoming aware that Hughes is not a man to be messed with.

“This way, Sergeant.”

Santi follows Hughes, Green close behind him, back to the Welsh camp and into Hughes’ tent

“Sit, Captain.” Santi does as he is told, and is quite frankly grateful for it. He’s been in the field for days now, and his very bones ache. It’s a few minutes of stony silence before Santi’s Codex chimes.

“May I?”

Hughes gestures in response, and Santi unclasps the box on his belt and open his Codex. There’s a message from Zara, and it’s exactly as he’d expected. _Permission for passage granted. Return of Sergeant Santi with the originals as agreed when your men are through. _And then a smaller, shorter message beneath: _In bocca al lupo. _Santi doesn’t feel the need to show this one to Hughes.

Hughes reads the first message and nods in satisfaction before making a small circle in the air with one finger, the signal to wind it up and break camp. Santi has to admit the Welsh soldiers are efficient – it takes them just over twenty minutes for most everything to be packed away, and they’re ready to move in under an hour. He spends the hour sat in his chair, not saying anything, just observing, and trying not to think about his soldiers and the Scholar they’re protecting. When the time comes for Hughes’ tent to be packed up, Santi is directed to stand by a small pack of horses and suffers quietly through the indignity of having his restraints attached to the post the horses are tied to.

“So. Your second. Just your second?”

Santi knows exactly what the other man is getting at. “You’re only saying this now because I can’t punch you.”

Hughes shrugs.

“No. We’ve been in the same squad since training, she’s one of my best, but no. Just my second.”

“That’s one thing I admire about you Library falcons, you’re loyal.” Falcon is an old way of referring to High Garda soldiers, not entirely respectful, much in the same way stormcrow is used sometimes for Scholars.

“And your soldiers aren’t?”

“Loyal in a different way, perhaps. Loyalty to an idea, and wanting to see that idea destroyed, are two very different things.”

For all that Santi was starting to like Hughes, this is a stark reminder the two men are on opposite sides. He knows he has to tread carefully here – antagonising the man holding him hostage wouldn’t be wise, but he can’t just end the conversation without seeming rude.

“I’ve been surrounded by the Library my entire life. I can’t imagine a world without codices, blanks, journals, Scholars, any of it. Protecting it is my life. I’m loyal because I cannot see any other option that doesn’t result in, well-“ here Santi tries to gesture to what remains of the camp, much less comfortable and sophisticated than his own waiting for him across the lines. This, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. Santi doubles over, coughing, from the unexpected gut punch from Hughes.

“And yet you value books over lives. You’d willingly give yourself up for some paper? Wouldn’t it be better if everyone could share in everything? Knowledge shared among the masses has to better than hidden away in secret towers and high pyramids, where the privileged get to choose who gets to read what.”

“But then who makes sure misinformation isn’t being spread? With no regulation, anyone could say anything, it would be a minefield of information, no one would know what to believe.”

“People could make up their own minds!”

Santi is saved from answering by one of Hughes’ soldiers coming up to inform him the camp is fully struck, and they’re ready to move.

“Make sure the way is clear.” Hughes instructs Santi but makes no move to release him from the post.

“I can’t write like this.”

Hughes sighs heavily and reluctantly motions to the soldier holding the keys. When he’s at least a little more free, Santi unclasps the box holding his Codex and writes a quick message, and receives an answer within seconds.

“It’s clear.”

Hughes nods and starts issuing commands to his soldiers before mounting up. There’s a spare horse, and Santi scrambles up as gracefully as he can with still bound wrists. He’s a fair rider, but he hasn’t had the chance for some years, and it takes a while to get back into the rhythm of it. It’s strange, riding in the middle of this opposing army. The camaraderie he hears from the other soldiers is familiar, even if he can only understand half of it, and it almost feels like he could be amongst his own unit. The ride across the lines takes about an hour, and Santi relaxes when he spots the first Garda flag. Finally, _finally_, the Welsh soldiers reach a point where they feel safe, and Hughes reins to a halt.

“Well I can’t say it’s been enjoyable, but you’ve been decent company.” Santi tells him truthfully. “Now about those originals.” He’s fully aware of the Garda company in the hills behind him, knows exactly what will happen if Hughes renegades on the deal now, and it would appear Hughes knows that too. He gestures to a soldier with a pack on his back bulkier than the others, and to the soldier holding the keys to Santi’s restraints.

“Can I keep the horse?” Santi asks, surprising himself a little. Hughes laughs, startled a little by the request.

“Sure. We’ve got others.”

Santi takes the pack from the other soldier and kicks the horse around before leaving without another word. The horse is quick, and it’s only a few minutes before he canters into the High Garda camp and slips to the ground, only to be greeted by a slap in the face from Zara.

“You absolute ass, Niccolo Santi.” She growls at him. “Why didn’t you tell me your plan? That was _not_ the smarter path!”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t agree.” He tells her, slipping the pack from his shoulder and handing it to the nearest soldier. “It worked, didn’t it? I got the originals.”

“Yes, but now he’s through our lines!”

“Yes, and there’s another Garda camp three miles away. Hughes is now stuck between them and us, and all the other camp know is he willingly took a Garda hostage.” Santi is smug as he explains it, but Zara doesn’t seem impressed.

“I had to cover for you, make it seem like you’d actually discussed your plans with me! And not just with the Captain!”

Santi laughs. “Where is he?”

Zara scowls. “In the Medica tent. The captain expects you an in hour.” She whirls and grabs the pack from the soldier who had taken it from Santi and walks off grumpily.

“Thank you Zara!” Santi shouts after her, before turning himself and heading to the Medica tent. He opens the tent door and smiles a little sheepishly at the man in the bed on the left hand side.

“I got the originals?”

Propped up on pillows, one arm in a sling, Scholar Christopher Wolfe looks thoroughly unimpressed with his lover.


	4. A Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Santi and Zara attend a wedding, and have an arguement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have finally conquered this chapter!!!

“I bring gifts for the soul.” Zara poke her head around the door of Santi’s office before coming in, holding a mug of coffee and a stack of paperwork. Santi raises an eyebrow.

“That just looks like more work to me.”

“No, the paperwork is mine, the coffee is yours. And the pleasure of my company.”

Santi hums in consideration. “I’ll accept it. What do you want?”

Zara gasps in mock horror. “You offend me, Lieutenant.”

Santi says nothing, just stares Zara down until she gives in and slides into the chair opposite his, pushing the mug over to his side of the desk.

“Fine. I have a favour to ask. My sister is getting married next month, and she’s insisting I bring a date. Will you come? Not as anything romantic!” she hastens to add, seeing Santi start to open his mouth to protest. “Just as a friend. I’ll make it very clear to everyone.”

“I’ll check with Chris, but alright. Which sister is it?” Santi has met one of Zara’s two sisters before, and hadn’t got on with her. Wolfe on the other hand had found her delightful company.

“Talia, you haven’t met her. She’ll be thrilled, she’s been going on at me for months to make sure I have someone I can bring.”

“Did you consider finding an actual date?” The curl of Zara’s lip tells Santi all he needs to know of what she thinks of that notion.

“You can’t just rely on me to go as your date to everything.”

“Why not?”

Santi gives in. This isn’t the first time they’ve had this argument, and it won’t be the last, and he doesn’t have the energy to get into it with her at the moment. “Never mind.”

**

They leave early the morning of the wedding, travelling by train, Zara clutching a cup of coffee for dear life. Even after all the years she’s been a soldier, early starts are not easy for her. Santi on the other hand is bright eyed and bushy tailed, although that may have more to do with the very pleasant goodbye he got from Wolfe before he left. They get settled in their seats and Zara procures more coffee as soon as she can, fetching a cup for Santi without being asked.

He takes a sip and grimaces slightly before putting the cup down. Zara pouts a little as she notices.

“Is it not good enough?”

“It’s worse than the stuff at the barracks.”

“You’ve never complained about the sludge at the barracks.”

“When have you ever actually seen me drink the sludge at the barracks?”

Zara thinks for a long moment before conceding the point. “I didn’t know you had such strong feelings on coffee.”

“I’m Italian, we practically invented the stuff. Of course I have strong feelings about it.”

“Just because you’re Italian doesn’t mean you have to have strong opinions on coffee.”

“It practically does. I don’t think there’s a single member of my family who doesn’t drink it. My brother is worse, he’ll tell you all ever wanted to know and more about how he brews it, where he got the beans from, how much he grinds them, the specific brewing method for different types of bean…” Santi trails off as Zara lets out a quiet snore. He’s not sure if she’s faking or if it’s a real one until she opens one eye and grins.

“Are you done?”

“I can’t wait for you to meet Vittorio.” Santi decides, already plotting a way to make that happen.

“I’m sure he’s delightful and charming.” Zara leans her head back, and this time the snore is a real one. Santi sits back with a fond smile, and closes his eyes, hoping to sleep away the long journey ahead of them.

It’s past midday by the time they arrive at the wedding and Santi and Zara have been engaged in a spirited game of cards for the past two hours, having drawn attention from most of the nearby passengers, some of whom joined in. They stand, and grab their cases, Santi stretching and feeling what seems like every joint in his back cracking at the same time.

“That’s disgusting.” Zara shudders, before doing exactly the same thing with her neck. “Why are trains so uncomfortable.”

“They’re better than carriers.” Santi offers, and Zara agrees.

“Even Translation is better than the carriers though. Those things are _awful._”

“They’re not that bad!”

“At least Translation is over quickly. Remember that time we were stuck in a carrier for twelve hours?”

Santi does, and shudders at the memory. “Fair point.”

Zara’s looking around the station as they walk through, trying to find whoever’s been sent to meet them, and she finally spots them.

“Nic, this way.” She pulls his sleeve to direct him and almost runs over to an older couple standing off to one side. “Mum! Dad!” She embraces them tightly for a long second before remembering her companion and pulls back to introduce him. “This is Niccolo Santi.”

“Call me Nic. My pleasure.” Santi nods his head slightly before taking Zara’s father’s hand to shake it briefly. “I’m sure Zara’s told you all the worst things about me.”

“Only the best. I’m Peter, it’s good to finally meet you. Thank you for coming, Thalia would have thrown a fit if Zara’d turned up without someone, and there’s already been chaos this morning.” Zara’s dad continues as he leads the way to a carriage waiting outside.

“What’s happened?” Zara inputs from the quiet conversation she’d been having with her mother, who sighs deeply.

“You know how Tally is, if it’s not perfect she doesn’t want it. Part of the bouquet is wrong, they used the wrong colour roses.”

“That seems like quite a big thing.” Zara offers. “And it is Tally’s wedding day.”

“The colour is pastel pink, instead of blush pink.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll get it sorted. Abby is on the case.”

“I pity the florist.”

Privately, Santi does as well, although he would never say so out loud to the family. He’d met Abby, Zara’s other sister, once before when she’d come to visit Zara, and to say they had not got on would be the understatement of the year.

The rest of the ride is spent in quiet conversation until they reach the hotel the wedding is taking place at. Zara’s parents go to find the florist and their other daughters in the hopes of averting disaster, and Zara and Santi check in, find their rooms, get changed, and meet back downstairs all in record time – they are both experts at quick changes by now, after this long in the Garda. Santi is about to suggest they get a drink before the ceremony starts when he sees a familiar head and shoulders across the room. He’s up and moving without a word to Zara, and isn’t entirely sure it’s who he thinks it is until he’s half way across the room, but then he’s sure when the other man turns to the side a little.

“Vit!”

Santi’s brother turns fully, looking confused for a second before he spots Santi and his expression clears, brightens with a smile. Vittorio says a quick goodbye to the people he’s with and then meets Santi half-way to clap him in a hug.

“Are you here for the wedding?” Nic asks.

“Yeah, I went through training with the groom. How about you?”

By this time Zara has caught up with them, and is looking between the brothers with a growing sense of comprehension.

“The bride is Zara’s sister.” Nic explains, gesturing to his friend. “Zara, my brother, Vittorio.”

“Ah, this is the infamous Zara!” Vittorio takes her hand and raises it to his lips with a sideways glance at Nic, who just rolls his eyes in response.

“Infamous?” Zara sounds pleased with the moniker.

“I think the only person Nic talks about _more_ is Christopher.”

“You tell your family about me?”

“Of course.” Nic says it with such certainty, like he couldn’t imagine not telling his family about her.

Before Zara can reply, someone appears at her side and whispers in her ear, and she sighs. “Sisterly duty calls. I’ll see you in a bit, Nic.” She presses a quick kiss to his cheek before leaving the two brothers alone.

“She seems nice.” Vittorio turns to Nic with a knowing expression. Nic told his brother about Zara back when they were in training and slept together for the first time, and Vittorio hasn’t stopped teasing him about it since, in that age old brotherly tradition of not letting him forget a thing.

“Fuck off.” Nic mutters.

Vittorio just laughs. “That’s hardly appropriate language for a wedding.”

“She’s a good friend.” Nic defends. “Just…intense.”

He is saved from any more teasing by the doors to the main wedding hall opening, and the guests getting ushered in.

**

The wedding is lovely but long, and Nic is glad when it’s over and it’s time for the reception. He’s already told Zara he’d be getting an early train back to Alexandria, and she’s staying behind with her family for a few days, so he has a reason to only stay at the reception for a few drinks and to watch the speeches and the first dance. He stands with Vittorio for most of it, the two of them trading insults and barbs in Italian to relieve the boredom. Zara hasn’t reappeared yet, although Nic had seen her a while ago in furious conversation with her other sister and had made the executive decision to stay away. He and Abby had not got on the last time they met, and he had no desire to speak to her.

Zara eventually rejoins the brothers a few minutes later, bringing with her another guest, an older woman she introduces as her aunt, a Scholar who looks more like she spends her time stood over the hob than over books.

“Niccolo Santi, a pleasure, and this is my brother, Vittorio. What’s your area?” If there’s one thing Nic know show to do, it’s charm Scholars he’s never met before.

“Artifex.”

“Ah, my partner as well. Perhaps you know him, Scholar Wolfe?”

“Wolfe? Yes, I know him. But- your partner?”

“My lover.” Nic clarifies. He’s seen the glances she’s been giving him and Zara since they started talking, and knows exactly where her thoughts were headed.

“I thought-“ the aunt trails off, looking between him and Zara again. He’s gratified to see Zara looks embarrassed but can’t help but think she almost deserves it, for bringing the aunt to the conversation in the first place.

“Zara is my sergeant, and a dear friend, but nothing more.” A flash of hurt on Zara’s face, and Vittorio must see the awkwardness because he takes over, smoothly intercepting the conversation and leading the aunt away under some pretence or other.

“Zara.” Nic starts, but doesn’t get much further.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“I thought you said you would make it clear to everyone I was only here as your friend?”

“I thought I did!”

“Clearly not well enough.” Nic is aware he’s being unfair, but can’t help himself from continuing.

“I love that man with everything I have. Everything I am. It hurts that the two most important people in my life can’t stand each other, but Chris has accepted that you’re my best friend. Can you accept what he means to me? Or at least try to?”

“I have accepted it!”

“Then act like it!”

People are staring now, and Zara pulls Nic to one side. “Can we not argue? It’s my sister’s wedding, and I’d like to enjoy it.”

“Fine.” He doesn’t apologise.

“Thank you.”

The crowd who are trying to act like they’re not watching and failing, turn away at the apparent end of the argument, and Nic sighs.

“I’m going to go to bed, Zara. I’ve got an early train tomorrow and-“

“It’s okay. You don’t need to make excuses.” She kisses his cheek softly. “Goodnight Nic.”

He watches as she walks away, and sighs again, before going to find his brother and make his goodbyes.

**

Santi sleeps on the train home, almost all the way back, and is surprised when it pulls into the station in Alexandria and Wolfe is standing on the platform. He can’t help but smile at the sight of his love, some of the tension he’s been carrying since the fight with Zara draining away.

“Hello.” He greets Wolfe. “Thought you were busy?”

“Not so busy I can’t come see you. How was it?”

“I fought with Zara.” He admits. “Vit was there though.”

“What did you fight about?”

“Us.”

“Me and you us, or you and her us?”

“Both. Her aunt thought me and her were together.”

“Ah.” Wolfe doesn’t say anything else on the subject, and Santi is glad for it. He couldn’t bear hashing it out again with Wolfe, not when he’s not had chance to talk to Zara properly about it.

“I’ll talk to her when she gets back.”

Wolfe nods. “Your brother was there?”

“Yes! Turns out he went through training with the groom, it was good to see him.”

The two walk home the long way, and by the time they reach their house, the rest of the tension in Santi’s shoulders has drained away.


	5. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Santi feels incredibly guilty, and Zara cheers him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little extra chapter that I hadn't planned at all until two days ago. Enjoy!
> 
> Italics are Santi, italics and bold is Wolfe

No one expected the explosion. It was supposed to be a fairly easy book retrieval – get in, get the books, arrest the occupants, get out. Santi had a squad of newly qualified soldiers with him, and he was confident enough in their abilities to let them take the lead, which meant he was stood outside the house with Zara, on guard for any returning smugglers, when he caught the unmistakable stench of Greek fire a millisecond before green flames erupted.

\--

“Captain, I know you’re worried about your soldiers, but respectfully, I do not have the time or the space to deal with you or the Lieutenant. You’ve been checked over, you can take care of your bruises alone, now please, leave so we can treat the others.”

Santi is a little taken aback by the force in the Medica’s voice but accepts what she’s saying – he is in fact taking up space, and he can quite easily take care of his swollen ankle back in his room. It’s Zara who finally gets him to leave, a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Come on Nic.”

The walk back to their rooms is slow, necessitated by Santi’s limp, and Zara’s bruised ribs. There are technically rules about men and women sharing rooms whilst on a mission, but they’re both high-ranking enough, and their friendship, and Santi’s relationship with Wolfe, is common knowledge enough that no one had really argued when they had said they were rooming together, and Santi couldn’t be more glad of that right now. Even so, when the door is locked behind them, he gestures Zara towards the shower first, needing a few moments alone – and to message Wolfe.

_I lost six soldiers today._

** _Oh, love. What happened? Are you okay?_ **

_Greek fire. I’m fine, swollen ankle from a bit of debris but nothing to worry about._

** _I’d come to you, but I suppose you’re too busy?_ **

_I’ve been thrown out the Medica tent, apparently I was loitering. Zara’s with me though. I know you’ve got your lecture tomorrow, don’t worry._

** _Are you sure?_ **

_Yes. I just needed to talk to you._

** _Always, Nic. Love you._ **

_Love you too._

Talking to Wolfe always soothes him, and this time is no different, and by the time Zara is out of the shower, the frantic rush of his thoughts has calmed a little.

“Your turn.”

Santi limps to the bathroom, and frowns as he tries to work out how to shower without putting too much weight on his sprained ankle. It’s a quick one despite the struggle, and he’s back on his bed with ice over his ankle before too long.

The two sit in silence for a while, nursing their respective injuries, until eventually Zara stands up and walks to Santi’s bed.

“Shove over.”

“Huh?” He’d been lost in his thoughts, and hadn’t even noticed her move.

“I can hear you thinking from over there, shove over.”

Santi does as he’s told, and Zara climbs onto the bed next to him.They’re pressed together from shoulder to knee, the beds not made to accommodate two full-grown adults. Zara leans her head on Santi’s shoulder, and he links their fingers together, and they sit in silence for a long moment.

“I love this job, I do, but…” Santi sighs. “Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I hadn’t joined the Garda. Six soldiers would still be alive. At least six.”

“Hey.” Zara elbows him lightly, and turns as much as she can to look him in the face. “Stop that. You know it’s not your fault, you weren’t to know there were traps, or that the squad wouldn’t look for them. There’s nothing you could have done.”

“But-“

“No.” She doesn’t let him speak before carrying on, changing the subject entirely. “What _would_ you have done? If you didn’t join?”

“I don’t know.” He admits. “I wouldn’t be the same, that’s for sure. I would never have met Chris. Or you. I never even thought of being a soldier until Vittorio joined, and then it seemed like the coolest thing in the world, and then my teacher started talking about putting me forward for the postulant exam, and suddenly I’d passed, and was in Alexandria. Mama wanted me to be a chef.”

“A chef?” Zara sounds delighted by the notion, and Santi manages a small smile.

“Yes. She taught me and Vit how to cook when we were kids, said every good Italian boy should know one good dish to impress his future mother-in-law.”

“Bet she didn’t expect one of those to be the Obscurist Magnus.” That gets a full laugh from Santi.

“Probably not. Is she officially my mother-in-law? Chris and I aren’t married, after all.”

“At this point you practically are.”

“Hmm. What would you have done?”

“I wanted to join the Garda from when I was a kid. It appealed to me. Not everyone can go the fancy postulant route though.” She elbows him again, this a common refrain between the pair. “Some have to do it the long way round.”

“How long were you a soldier before you came to Alexandria? I should know this.”

“You should. You probably do. I’d done basic training at home, on a one year copper contract, and then at the end I was given a ten year silver, and told I could either stay at home and be a captain in five years, or go to Alexandria and potentially never make captain, but have more fun with it.”

“Do you regret making that choice?”

“Nah. Met you, didn’t I?”

“You say you hate me on a regular basis.”

“You deserve it.”

Santi concedes the point, and falls silent again. It’s comfortable this time, and lasts a lot longer. Santi is half asleep by the time Zara moves her head to kiss his cheek.

“You do know today wasn’t your fault?”

“But I-“

“Yes, you gave the order, but you didn’t set the trap. We trust you, Nic. We know you would never send us into somewhere you wouldn’t go yourself. Today was meant to be a task for the newbies, to give them confidence. It ended badly because smugglers are the worst, not because of you. You take every death under your command personally, and that’s why we know we can trust you to not make stupid command decisions. You’re a good man. You’re a good captain. You know you are. We know you are.”

Absurdly, Zara’s words have tears prickling in Santi’s eyes, and he turns away to try and hide them. It doesn’t work, Zara knows him too well for that, and leans over him.

“Are you crying?” She doesn’t let him deny it, and eventually he lets himself show it, half-laughing and half-crying as she prods his shoulder.

“I hate you.” He manages eventually, sniffing a little and smiling as he does.

“I know.” Zara’s voice is smug, but her smile is soft.

“Now fuck off, the bed’s too small for two people.” Santi nudges her gently with a foot, and she does as she’s told, grumbling all the while. She turns the light off as she goes, plunging the room into darkness, and Santi reaches down to take the ice from his ankle before getting under the covers.

“Thank you Zara.”

She doesn’t reply, but she doesn’t need to.

\--

The morning dawns cold and bright, and brings with it messages from the Medica team. The two soldiers who were on the edge have survived the night, and it’s likely they’ll be fine, and the other two who were less badly injured are already awake and ready to be transferred back home, but they won’t go without seeing Santi. He’s up and getting dressed in seconds, shaking Zara awake and laughing at her sleepy ‘Fuck you’.

“Steel and Shirogane are awake, and Morris and O’Tanner survived the night!”

The news has Zara on her feet in seconds as well, dragging her uniform from the end of her bed and grimacing as she pulls it back on. Santi jams his feet into his boots, pleased to discover the swelling has gone down enough for him to be able to lace them up, although the bruising is a rather spectacular shade of purple. It’s less than five minutes before they’re ready to leave, and Santi can’t stop smiling with the knowledge that his soldiers will survive.


	6. Meeting Kepi the cat.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Santi meets Zara's cat, and awkward conversations are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!!!!
> 
> The wait for the next one won't be nearly so long, it's mostly written already.

"Come to mine tonight." Zara says out of the blue one day. She and Santi are sat in the cubby hole he likes to call his office at the High Garda barracks, looking through some paperwork for their newest recruits.

"Okay."

Zara is a little taken aback at how quickly Santi agrees, and he laughs a little. "Chris is away on the lecture circuit, I won't get anything sensible from him until at least two days after he gets back. I'm bored." he easily admits. Wolfe has been away for three days already, and won't be back for another week, his gruelling schedule taking him to nine locations in eight days for ten lectures. They've managed good night messages, but that's about it.

By the time they leave later that afternoon, just the two of them having a drink or two had grown to eight and the promise of a truly irresponsible amount of alcohol.

Santi arrives at Zara's house first. She lives a little way out of the centre of Alexandria, still in walking distance of the barracks but far enough away she never gets put on emergency call, in a pleasant little house, light and airy with a small courtyard in the middle, the intended gathering place for this evening. Santi knocks twice, and is surprised when the door opens to reveal Zara holding a little black cat.

"You don't have a cat." is his immediate response, and he instantly blushes at how idiotic he sounds. She clearly does have a cat, it's in front of him, purring in Zara's arms. Zara only laughs loudly.

"This is Kepi. I've only had her a few weeks. Isn't she sweet?"

Santi has to admit the cat is sweet, and reaches a hand out to stroke the creature. Kepi immediately lays her ears back and hisses, one paw out-stretched as if to scratch if he comes any closer. Santi is a sensible man, and pulls his hand back at once.

"Not friendly, is she?"

Zara frowns. "She normally is."

Santi hums like he isn't convinced and enters the house. Zara follows and puts Kepi down when the door shuts. The cat immediately bolts for the kitchen, the farthest room in the house, and Zara watches her go with a raised eyebrow.

“She’s never done that before.” She remarks. Santi grunts in response and hands Zara the bottle of whiskey that is his contribution to the night’s proceedings.

“She’ll warm up to me.” He sounds more confident than he feels as he follows Zara to the courtyard and takes a seat.

It’s not long before the other members of their squad join, and the drinks start flowing. This particular permutation of the squad has been almost the same for two years now, with one exception, and so the jokes come thick and fast, with the unfortunate Botha sat in the midst with a very confused expression for the majority of the night.

They’re in the middle of a fast and furious card game when Kepi comes wandering into the room and proceeds to lie down in the middle of the pile.

“Your cat is an ass.” Collins observes, and picks her up to cuddle her. “When did you get her?”

“Couple of months ago.”

“Why does she like you?” Santi furrows his brows. “She swiped at me!” As if to illustrate the point, Kepi, upon hearing Santi speak, wriggles out of Collins’ arms and runs out of the room.

“Have we found the one being in Alexandria who isn’t charmed by the Captain?!”

“Does that mean you’re charmed by me, Collins?” Santi’s grin is wide, and the raised eyebrow only adds to it.

“Oh, if you weren’t taken…” Collins sighs dreamily, making everyone laugh – Collins is in fact in a very happy and fruitful marriage, and talks of little else but his wife and their three children.

“Nah, the only person in love with Santi here is Zara!”

There’s a beat of heavy silence, Botha looking from person to person with a growing expression of unease, and then Collins wraps his arm around him. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” He tells the new recruit, giving Santi a sideways glance. Santi nods thankfully in his direction, knowing Collins will take a moment later to tell him the truth of the matter.

The awkward moment passes as quickly as it had come, and the squad gets back to the serious matter of drinking.

\--

It’s later that night, when the group has started to leave to home and Santi is returning from the bathroom that he hears Collins and Botha talking in the kitchen, and he stops outside the door to listen in. He would never normally eavesdrop on his soldiers, but well, he may have had more to drink than advisable, and he knows these conversations happen with every new recruit, and he’s always been a little curious as to what’s said in them.

“So, what’s the deal with Santi and Zara?”

Collins sighs and hesitates for a second before answering. “They slept together a few times in training, but then they got put in the same squad after, and well, you know the rules. They ended up in different ones after a while, and everyone thought they’d end up together again, but then Santi went on a mission to Moscow and met his Scholar, and that was that.”

“Zara-“

“Is still half in love with him. Everyone knows it. He knows it.”

Santi winces to hear it laid out so plainly. He knows Zara’s feelings for him are rather more than just friends, but to hear it spoken by someone outside of their friendship is like a punch to the gut – he hadn’t realised it was that obvious to other people. He’s distracted from his thoughts by the brush of fur around his ankles, and looks down to see Kepi, the closest she’s come to him all night, and he only just manages to stop himself from stumbling and revealing that he’s been listening in.

“Shush.” He mouths to the cat, and apparently just to be contrary, she opens her mouth and meows loudly, immediately stopping the conversation from inside.

“Traitor.” Santi mouths to her, and tries to get out of sight before the door opens to let Kepi in. He manages it, just about, and breathes a sigh of relief. That would be a conversation far too awkward to have when he’s this drunk. Instead, he goes back to the living room and flops down on the sofa in the boneless way of the truly drunk. It’s not long before Botha and Collins leave, and then it’s just Santi and Zara left. She’s already offered the sofa to him for the night and he readily accepted, not wanting to spend another night in his and Chris’s bed alone.

Santi is lying with his head in Zara’s lap, and her fingers are idly playing with his hair. It’s in need of a cut, so it’s a little longer than usual. The silence is comfortable, an ease between them that only comes from years of friendship.

“Collins told Botha.”

“Hmm?”

“About-“

“Oh.”

“He did it well, I think.”

“Were you eavesdropping?” Zara looks down at him, and Santi has the grace to look a little guilty.

“Maybe.”

She shakes her head indulgently. “You’re a menace.”

Silence falls again, broken this time by Kepi jumping up on the sofa. She tries to avoid Santi as much as possible, preferring instead to jump onto the back and curl around Zara’s neck, but he takes it as a win.

“Told you she’d warm up to me.” He says with a smug smile.

“You’re unbearable.” Zara informs him.

“Unbearable, a menace. Anyone would think you don’t like me.”

“Never.” Her voice is soft now, affectionate, and Santi can suddenly see what the others do.

“You know…if I hadn’t gone to Moscow. If I hadn’t met Chris, if he hadn’t saved my life, if we were in different units…it might be different between us.”

Zara’s fingers still in his hair.

“Don’t do that Nic.”

“What?”

“Lie to make me feel better.”

Santi twists and sits up so he can look Zara in the eye, startling Kepi in the process.

“I’m not. I’m telling the truth.”

“You’re drunk.”

“That too.” He concedes. “But that doesn’t stop it being true.”

Zara closes her eyes for a second, sighing deeply. “I can’t let myself know that.” She admits, and Santi immediately feels like a terrible person.

“I shouldn’t have said anything-“

“No.” Zara agrees. “But, strangely, I’m glad you did. I’ve always wondered, and now I know.”

With that, she stands up. “I’m going to bed. You know where the blankets are.” She leaves the room, leaving Santi behind. Kepi follows her, a little haughtily. Santi sighs, and fetches a blanket.

He wakes the next morning with a dry mouth, and the vague idea of having admitted something he probably shouldn’t have. Zara makes breakfast and coffee – proper coffee, not the granules you can our water over she normally has, but grounds brewed properly - and Santi leaves feeling slightly more human. It’s only when he gets home and is sat on his own sofa that more of the night comes back to him.

“Fuck.”


	7. Persuasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Santi returns, and Zara comforts him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely the most angsty chapter so far. It's got mentions of torture, but I don't think it's any more explicit than in the books. I'll put more details in the end notes.
> 
> Enjoy!

Zara is in that middle stage between awake and asleep when her Codex chimes, and like any good soldier, she checks it at once. It's Santi, his usual untidy scrawl practically illegible. She finally deciphers it as saying simply "_need you. at home_." and frowns deeply, penning a quick reply before getting out of bed and throwing on the nearest clothes she can find, soothing her cat as she does. Zara hasn't heard from Santi in two weeks or so, since he was put on involuntary leave, and she assumed he'd either gone home to Italy for a few days, or had gone to visit his brother or something. She’s not sure what this message implies, but she isn’t worried. It’s not the first time she’s got a potentially concerning message from him late at night, only for it to be nothing.

It's not until she reaches Santi's house that she starts to consider something may actually be wrong. The door is very slightly ajar, and when she slowly pushes it open, one hand on her gun, the first thing she sees is a bloodied shirt on the floor by the sofa. She eases her gun from its holster and walks further into the room on silent tiptoe, worry rising in her chest. It's then she hears a quiet noise from the bathroom, and whirls to face down the corridor. She's half-way to the door when she recognises the noise as retching, and the retching as Santi's.

"Captain? Nic?" she calls gently, warning that she's there before pushing the door open. What she sees on the other side has her dropping her gun immediately and falling to her knees. Santi is curled around the toilet, hair lank and beard thicker than Zara's ever seen it. She'd think he was in fact drunk if it weren't for the most alarming thing of all, the series of parallel cuts marching along his chest, neat and even and some still bleeding sluggishly.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Zara demands, unsure of what to do or where to start. Santi finally seems to notice she's there, and frowns deeply.

"Z'ra? Why are you here?" His words are slightly slurred, his voice rough and thick.

"You messaged me, just saying you needed help and you were here. I came straight away. What's going on, Nic?"

"It's Chris." Of course it is. Zara sighs inwardly. Christopher Wolfe had disappeared from the Codex and the world a few months before, and Santi had spoken of little else since. She's never understood Santi's love for the Scholar. Wolfe can be irascible and quick to temper, and has been known to be downright cruel. He is a complete contrast to Santi's easy nature and warm smile, and while they're as intelligent as each other, Wolfe often uses his to belittle and look down on others, whereas Santi uses it to help.

"What do you mean, it's Chris?" But before he can answer, Zara interrupts. "No, wait." she offers him her hand and pulls him to his shaky feet. "Kitchen. Go and sit down." She's expecting a joke, something about rank and the chain of command, the usual response when she orders Santi around, but instead he obeys silently, and his lack of response is unsettling to say the least. Zara lingers in the bathroom for a second, finding the first aid kit under the sink and taking a second to tidy up a little before following Santi to the kitchen. He's sat at the table, picking at a mark on the wood and Zara joins him, pulling a chair around so they're sat face to face.

"Alright. Let's have it."

Santi sighs deeply. "I don't know much more than I did before, except that Chris is alive. He's alive, and he's in a cell somewhere, being-" He stops, like he needs to steel himself before continuing, "Being tortured. And I don't know why, or where, just that I can't do anything about it, because- they said if I keep looking, they'll keep hurting him. But I can't give up, I can't stop, it's _Christopher_, how can I stop, but if-when - he comes back, what if he blames me, for stopping, or not stopping, I-"

Zara cuts him off before he can talk himself in circles. She's never seen Santi this distressed before, and what he's just said is both confusing and concerning.

"Nic. Stop." He does and looks up, a little surprised, as though he's forgotten she's even there.

"What do I do, Zara?"

"You stop." She keeps talking over him even as he opens his mouth to speak. "No, listen to me. You stop. You, and he, have clearly found yourself as part of something much bigger, so you stop. Stop looking for him, stop asking about him. It's got you in trouble once already, and him. If you keep going, he might not come back." It's harsh of her to say it, but it's the truth, and she can tell Santi knows it. He closes his eyes, and she can see him fighting with himself, the soldier drawn to action, the protector wanting to fight, the lover wanting to protect. "It's not giving up. It's taking the smarter path. That's what you've always said, right? When it gets down to it, take the smarter path.”

“You hate the smarter path.” Santi manages a quiet laugh, with no emotion in it.

“Now you know how I feel whenever you pull that trick.” Zara had meant it as a joke, but she regrets it almost immediately when it comes out not half as light as she’d intended.

“Don’t, Zara. Not tonight.” Santi sounds utterly exhausted, and looks it too, shoulders drooping and eyes downcast, and Zara feels the guilt like a stab to the heart.

“I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

He’s right. She’s not. She’s sorry for saying it, but not for feeling it. It’s not like he keeps his feelings to himself either, but this is not the time to get into that debate.

“I may not like him, but I know how important he is to you. Now you know he's alive, this is the best way to keep him alive. So we're going to get you cleaned up, you're going to come back to mine tonight, and you're going to go back to work next week. Deal?"

"I want to stay here."

"If you stay here, you'll wallow. And anyway, Kepi misses you." This pulls a laugh from Santi, if only a small one. Zara's cat is one of the few beings in Alexandria that Santi hasn't managed to charm, and hisses whenever she sees him before running to hide. The reaction has become a long-running joke in the unit.

"Well I can't have Kepi missing me." he allows with a smile. "Alright. The smarter path."

"The smarter path."

They fall asleep together that night, curled on Zara’s sofa, Kepi keeping a safe distance.

**

When Zara wakes the next morning, she’s alone, the blankets Santi was using in a heap on the floor. She’d be worried, but they’re still warm and she can hear water boiling in the kitchen. She hears Santi walk into the courtyard, and waits a few moments before padding out softly to join him where he’s sat on a bench, hands wrapped around a mug and curled over slightly as though to protect his injured chest. There’s a chill to the morning air, and Zara shivers slightly, but doesn’t go to fetch a blanket. It doesn’t seem to bother Santi.

“You shouldn’t be up.”

Santi doesn’t seem as though he’s heard her.

“I don’t trust that they’ll stop hurting him if I stop looking. But I can’t be the reason they hurt him more if I do keep looking, so what choice do I have, except to stop. I don’t even know why any of this is happening. I knew Chris was working on _something_, but he wouldn’t tell me what, he’d just get all cagey if I asked. It must be related to that, I can’t think of any other reason why he’d be arrested. Why he’d be tortured.” Santi’s voice wobbles and breaks on the last word, and Zara’s heart breaks for him. This quiet recitation of the facts is almost worse than the frantic panicking of the night before, like he’s accepted the situation, and accepted that the only thing he can do is wait, and whilst Zara knows this is what she’d counselled the night before, it doesn’t feel right. There’s nothing else she can think to say though, knows that this is best course of action, and so she chooses to change the subject.

“Will you let me find someone to stitch those wounds up today?” Last night, Santi had only allowed Zara to tape some gauze over his chest, and she can see blood starting to seep through the padding.

“Not someone else. Can you do it?”

“Why not someone else?”

Santi doesn’t reply for long enough for his words from the night before to come back to Zara, but he speaks before she can.

“In case they hurt Chris. More. Again. Christ, I don’t know what they’ve done to him, they said he’s still alive, but I can’t trust that, what if he’s not, I need to find out-“

“No. We went through this last night, you stop.” She reaches out and takes the mug from him, turning so she’s facing him directly. “You stop, because if he is alive, you need to be there for him to come home to.” She hesitates for a second, wondering if her next words will do more harm than good, but ploughs on anyway. “Imagine him coming home to find you gone. Think how you felt when you got back and he was gone. Think how you’ve been since, and imagine what that would be like after coming home from being hurt. Tortured. I don’t know any more than you, but I can’t imagine they’d lie to you about him being alive, if their goal is to stop you looking for him. There’d be no reason to, so assume he’s alive, because otherwise you’ll fall apart.”

“I need him to be okay, Zara.” The devastation in his voice is complete, and Zara’s heart breaks for her best friend as he finally does what he hasn’t done yet, not even on that first day when they returned from Belgium to find Wolfe missing, not in the months since as he got ever more desperate. Santi cries. It starts with a few tears squeezed from the corner of his eyes, and then suddenly he’s _sobbing_, hunched over his still-bleeding chest, arms curled around his stomach, and Zara can’t just sit there and watch, so she throws her arms around him and holds him, one of his arms coming up to grasp at hers so tightly the skin goes white beneath it. She doesn’t know how long they sit there, but finally Santi takes a deep breath without it shuddering into another sob, and then another, and then he pushes her away a little.

There’s blood everywhere now, soaked through the gauze and smeared on both of them.

“_Now_ will you let me stitch you up?”

Santi looks down at himself as though he hadn’t even realised the mess he’s in. “Oh. Ouch.”

Zara stares at him, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, ouch. Come on.” She stands up and offers him her hand to pull him up, but instead of moving anywhere they stand, hand in hand for a moment, facing each other, before Santi pulls Zara into his arms again, pressing their cheeks together, his eyes closed.

“Thank you, Zara. For putting up with me.”

“It’s what friends are for.”

They stay like that for a few moments as Santi pulls himself together, before finally letting Zara lead him to her kitchen.

**

A week later, Santi walks onto the training ground like there’s nothing wrong with him, nothing to indicate there’s ten neatly stitched cuts on his chest, a warning and a reminder in one. He seems more settled in the following months, although only Zara knows it’s not acceptance but compliance. There are questions about where he’s been, of course, but he fields them away with mentions of his family, of his new-born cousin and having not seen his mother for months, and everyone accepts it, but it doesn’t stop the gossip. Zara does her best to keep the worst of the gossip away from him. The most common theory is ‘the captain split up with his scholar’, and Santi agrees that there’s no harm in letting people think that. He’s less keen on the addition that comes later, ‘the captain slept with his lieutenant (finally), and split up with his scholar’, but knows by protesting he’ll only make it seem more like the truth.

Months later, Zara receives another late night Codex message from Santi.

“_He’s back.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Santi returns from being persuaded, with cuts to his chest. He is panicked and freaking out, and Zara calms him down. He talks about Wolfe and what he's found out is being happening to him.


	8. Philadelphia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nic and Zara have a much needed conversation, after the events of Paper and Fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the conversation that is hinted at in Ash and Quill, outside Philadelphia. It's taken a very long time to write, and it's shorter than I'd hoped, but enjoy!!
> 
> Some relevant quotes:
> 
> 'Yeah, she told me. She's dead sorry about it. Changed her mind after the Artifex Magnus decided to execute a few of her soldiers for disloyalty' - A+Q, pg 159
> 
> '"All I know is Burners have spat on us and tried to kill us my entire life.[...] But we can save that particualr discussion for later." - A+Q, pg 210
> 
> 'Niccolo Santi wasn't resting. He was sitting in a folding camp chair, but he was engaged in earnest conversation with his extremely capable and dangerous lieutenant.' A+Q, pg 220

Niccolo Santi has never been so glad to see Zara Cole. He’s sure the promised conversation about Burners and everything else won’t be a pleasant one, but, for now, his best friend is back on his side, or at least back on his side enough to offer her help, and that’s enough for him. Almost enough for him to forgive her the bruising and broken rib from the shot in the prison in Rome, but not quite. They pull away from the group as Medica swarm on them, surrounding Jess, Morgan and Thomas, easily identified as the ones needing the most urgent medical attention.

“You shot me. Broke a rib.”

She winces. “I did. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

Zara sighs. “I’m sorry for breaking your rib. Shooting was…a reaction. I couldn’t reconcile what you showed me with the Library I know. I still can’t.” she admits.

Santi is saved from replying by the arrival of a Medica, already looking resigned at having to deal with a notoriously bad patient.

“Captain. I hear you have a burn.”

“Finn. Good to see you.” Santi obediently offers his arm to the Company Medica, whose look of resignation turns to one of surprise.

“Niccolo Santi, willingly taking treatment. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“If it means I don’t have bread and honey smeared on my arm anymore, I’ll do anything.”

“Ah, physician treatment. Effective in a pinch, but not the best.” Finn gently unwraps the bandage, and raises an eyebrow. “Better healed than I would have thought.”

“That’ll be Morgan. She’s helped a lot. Too much.”

Finn nods at the hint, taking the implication that Morgan is an Obscurist in his stride. He’s dealt with worse, in his time with the company. “I’ll make sure she’s looked after. Shall we?”

_

A night’s good sleep with Wolfe, in an actual bed, new bandages on his arm and some painkillers for the broken rib Finn tells him they regrettably can’t do anything for, and Santi feels something half -way approaching human. He leaves Wolfe to go and talk to Jess, and instead makes a slow walk of the camp, greeting soldiers and taking in their preparations with a practised eye. He’s looking for one in particular, and eventually finds her next to a tent, leaning against a pole and clearly waiting for someone. Him.

“Zara.”

“Feeling better?”

“Much.”

“Hmm.” Zara doesn’t look convinced, and walks over to a pair of folding chairs, not looking to see if Santi is following her. He does, of course, and ignores the way she carefully tracks his ginger movements as he sits, careful to avoid jarring his injuries.

They sit in silence for a few moments, neither of them willing to start talking before the other. It’s not an awkward silence, but not as comfortable as it has been between the pair, and Santi hopes he can find a way to salvage what may remain of their friendship.

“You want to change the Library.” Zara starts hesitatingly.

“Yes. I had to deal with what they did to Chris. I didn’t have a choice if I wanted to keep him safe. But Thomas is a _child_, Zara. You saw the cells, that room. You see him now. I cannot in good conscience keep working for the Library with that knowledge. Unless something massive happens to change it all.”

“But if the Library changes, it won’t be the same thing we’ve fought and bled for our entire lives.”

“Good. I don’t want it to stay the same. Nothing should stay the same forever, it should move with the times. And hurting children – _torturing _them, for having a brilliant mind and the will to do something with it, is not something I want to fight and bleed for.”

Zara is silent, clearly thinking on something, something more than just changing the nature of the system they’ve worked for almost their entire lives.

“Why are you here, Zara?” Santi asks quietly.

“Collins. Moss. Yates. They were summoned by the Artifex Magnus before we even left Rome.” She swallows. “A shot to the back of the head. Disloyalty, he said.”

Santi’s heart drops into his stomach. It was Zara’s company now, but they were his men and woman, he’d brought them together. They had families, friends, lives, and now they were gone, for Zara. For Santi.

“Were you there?”

Zara nods once.

“Zara, I’m sorry. Do you understand now, how callous that man is? What he’ll do to force everyone into his way of thinking, or to punish those who go against him?”

“I do. I thought I did, after-“ she gestures vaguely at Santi’s chest, and he understands what she means. “But that was between you and Wolfe, and for all that I care about you-“

“You don’t care for Chris. Don’t deny it.” Santi manages the tiniest of smiles, cutting her off before she can even open her mouth. “You don’t have to lie to me, Zara. But Collins, Moss, and Yates were yours.”

“They were. They were yours first, but then they were mine. And I-“ She stops, unable to carry on.

“I know.”

“It was just after…that happened, when I got the message from Brightwell 2.0, saying you and your lot had found your way to Philadelphia, and needed a friendly face and a company they could trust. I don’t trust him any more than I trust your Brightwell, by the by. But I had to come.”

“I’m glad you did. Thank you, Zara.”

“But _Burners,_ Nic?”

Santi sighs. He thought they’d come to the end of that particular conversation. “I’ve as much cause as you to dislike Burners, Zara. But these are good people, as odd as that may sound. The physician, Askuwheteau, saved my life. The others don’t deserve to die in a firebombing**. **No one deserves to die in a firebombing.”

“They’d firebomb us willingly, and not think anything of us.”

“If we left them there, wouldn’t it make us the same as them? We have to be better than them.”

“But you’ve just admitted you hate the Library.”

“No, I didn’t. I don’t hate the Library. How can I, with everything it’s done for me? I hate what it’s become, the men who run it. You know why, now more than ever. It needs to change, and this can be part of that. I’m not asking you to work with them, or to believe what they do, just to protect them as long as they’re in the camp. That’s all.”

Zara considers that for a long moment. “I suppose. But I won’t take them any further.” She warns. “I don’t want to spend more time than I have to in their company.”

“That’s fine. I think they have their own plans, anyway, to go to Boston, and we need to go back home.”

Zara accepts this with a nod. “Truce?

Santi nods. “Truce.”

And then, a second later, “You _shot _me.”

Zara rolls her eyes. “Yes, I shot you. I apologised.”

Santi grins, and Zara shakes her head. “You’re a bastard, Niccolo Santi. What do you need me to do?”

“Act like nothing has changed. Communicate with the other captains make notes, send messages and supply requisition orders. Say you’ve received sealed orders from the Artifex and tell the other captains to do the same.”

“I can do that.”

Santi stands then, moving over to the command tent, Zara following close behind.

“Captain Santi!” the captains of the other units that have pledged to them greet him, and it feels better than he could have imagined, but there’s a bitter taste to it all the same.

“I’m not a captain anymore.” He tells them, but they’re shaking their heads before he’s even finished speaking.

“You’re a captain as long we say you are, and we can’t think of a better one.”

Santi can’t speak for a moment, overwhelmed by their continued support for him. “Thank you.”

“What do you need?”

And suddenly Santi is subsumed into the centre, giving the captains the same orders he’d given Zara, explaining the plan he’d gone over with Wolfe the night before, their best chance of getting out of this alive and relatively unharmed. He and Zara work together like the partners they’ve always been, moving around each other, understanding plans before they’re spoken, and it feels _good_, to be working with his friend like this again, to be working out tactical manoeuvres and squad movements, no matter how short a time it may last.


	9. Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has fought me every step of the way. I've rewritten the start three times from three different points of view before scrapping it and going for something else entirely, and I'm still not a massive fan of it, but if I don't post it now, i never will.
> 
> Also yes the chapter count has changed. One more after this one!!

Zara pulls Nic aside as they’re waiting for news from Brightwell, from their soldiers, from anyone about the plan.

“Can I talk to you?”

“Can it wait?” He is distracted, for obvious reasons, but Zara doesn’t let that deter her.

“it’s about Wolfe.” That gets his attention, and he drags her into an archway the courtyard where they’re all gathered, away from prying eyes and ears.

“What?”

She is suddenly unsure of where to start, unsure of what Nic will say and how he will react when she tells him what she saw.

“Zara, what?” It’s his command voice, one she’s followed for twenty years, and she lets it compel her now.

“I saw him being taken to the cells. I knew you’d never let him go back, so I presumed something had gone wrong, and then I saw Brightwell, but not the one I expected, and I assumed you’d been betrayed.”

“We were.” Nic growls, and Zara winces. She knows the truth of it now, and would not like to be Jess when Nic next sees him.

“So I went down to the cells, as soon as I could get off duty. Thought he’d appreciate a familiar face.” Zara stalls here, wondering how to word what she’d seen to cause as little pain as possible to the man in front of her. She considers it for half a second before realising whatever she says will hurt, and so ploughs on. She tells him about how she’d found Wolfe curled on the bunk in his cell, pressed tightly into the corner, head in his crossed arms. How he flinched violently when she stepped towards the bars, and how, when she turned to leaved, she heard him plead under his breath. She _says_ she didn’t hear what he said. She _doesn’t _say he begged for Nic to not leave him.

“He never knew I was there, so I re-organised the rotas, got Troll assigned as a guard and sent him down there with a message the next day. He was more aware then, he got the message.”

Nic takes a few deeply controlled breaths before talking. “Thank you, for sending him the message. But, why?”

“For you, mostly.” Zara admits. She has little care for Wolfe himself but she remembers with vivid clarity how Nic had been the last time Wolfe had been released. The message was a way to try and keep Wolfe at least a little sane, to help Nic care for him afterwards.

He takes another breath, and thanks her again. “It won’t be as bad this time.” He says, and she can hear the hope in his voice, and hopes for his sake it isn’t. “Don’t tell him you went down. He won’t thank you for it, for seeing him like that.”

Zara was planning to not speak to Wolfe about the matter at all, so it’s an easy thing to agree to.

“Captain!” A voice calls from across the yard, and Nic turns immediately. “They’re on their way. Wolfe and Brightwell.” Zara sees all the tension drain from Nic’s shoulders at once as he sags slightly in relief.

“I’ll leave you to it.” She tells him and leaves, not wanting to be at their reunion.

_

Zara is in the courtyard again the next day when Wolfe comes up to her. He looks a sight better than he did the day before, and a thousand miles away from the man she’d seen in the cell. His hair is fully grey now, and he’s thin and paler than usual, but he walks with confidence, and there is nothing hesitant about his manner.

“A word, Lieutenant?”

“What is it?”

“Thank you. For the note. I thought it was part of Jess’s plan, but I spoke to him and he had no idea what I was talking about. So, thank you.”

Zara has never heard the man sound so sincere, especially when talking to her, and it is such a surprise that she doesn’t quite know what to say in return.

“I just have one question.”

Zara doesn’t have to ask what the question is. “I did it for Nic.”

Wolfe doesn’t look surprised. “There is nothing you wouldn’t do for him, is there?”

“I won’t watch him ruin himself for you. I can’t. I’ve already seen that once, and I wasn’t about to let it happen again. If I could help you, in any way, it would help him.”

“Do you know what we’re planning to do?”

“I do.”

“And?”

Zara sighs. She’s been informed of the plan, and has strong doubts over if it will work or not. Her loyalty to the Library has wavered before, after the execution of her soldiers in Rome, but this is so much more, and she isn’t sure if she can justify helping them. Even for Nic.

“I’ll help Nic, as far as I can.” A vague answer, and Wolfe narrows his eyes at it. Zara doesn’t care. He’s never trusted her, she’s never trusted him, and they certainly aren’t about to start now.

“Don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt him like I think you’re going to.”

“And how do you imagine I’ll hurt him?”

“You’ll leave at some inopportune moment. You’re still loyal to the Library. You love him as much as I do, but you’re not loyal to him.”

“How fucking dare-“

“Don’t.” He cuts her off sharply. “Don’t try and justify yourself. You aren’t loyal to him because I’m still here. You’ll never have him to yourself, so you won’t make any moves that might harm your career.”

Zara is silent for a long moment, even though she knows it’s all but confirming what Wolfe has said. He’s right, more than she cares to admit to even herself, but she won’t tell him that.

“I don’t care what you do. Work with us, don’t work with us, I don’t care. Just whatever you do, don’t hurt Nic. We can both agree on that.”

Zara does agree with that. “I won’t.”

“Good.” With that, Wolfe walks off, conversation over. Zara watches him go, and sighs. She doesn’t know what she’s going to do, but it almost certainly won’t be what Wolfe would like her to do. She’ll try her best to not hurt Nic, but there is only one course of action that would lead to that, and it’s not certain if it’s the one she’ll take.

They talk again later, Wolfe and Zara, about Nic. There is an unspoken thread of that weaves through their words, of loyalty, and how they both know the truth of where their loyalties lie. She thinks he knows what her decision will be before she’s made it herself.

_

And then they’re on the roof, the smoking wreck of a dragon behind them, and Zara is pointing a gun at Santi, and tearing her insignia off, and leaving him and her heart behind.

_

And then Niccolo Santi is stood in the arena, watching Zara Cole, his best friend of more than twenty years, the person he loves most in this world after Wolfe, plunge a knife into Brendan Brightwell’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the books, Wolfe assumed Jess had told Zara to send a message to him. There is no evidence of this happening, at least not that I could find, and so I went with the interpretation that Zara did it off her own back - for Nic.


	10. Endings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The last chapter! Thank you for sticking with this, your comments have kept me going.
> 
> Fun fact, this entire fic was originally going to be just a one shot, just this chapter. Then it grew legs and ran away from me, and I could only do my best to keep up.
> 
> As ever, unbeta'd and very little editing.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

Niccolo Santi is heart-sick, foot-sore, and utterly exhausted. Thirty condolence letters already written out, and that’s only the first page of his list, generic ones for the soldiers he didn’t know, more personal for those that he did, and every one his fault. He sighs deeply, signs his name on the latest letter, and turns to the next page of his list, only for the first name he sees to hit like a pile of bricks to his chest. Zara Cole.

It’s not that her death is news to him – Thomas had told him, but the boy was in a rush to get what remained of the antidote to the lab for Jess, and so the information was brief. Santi doesn't blame Thomas, he had far more important things on his mind, but the news had still been a blow, one he hasn't quite absorbed yet. A sudden thought – who will take care of Kepi? – is interrupted by a quiet knock on the door, and Wolfe slipping into the room. Wolfe smiles softly and walks over to stand behind Santi, a hand running through his hair, the other resting on his shoulder. Santi lets himself lean into the warm touch for a second, closing his eyes, before sitting up and picking his pen up again. There’s too much to do to allow himself even that small comfort. He feels Wolfe lean forward to read over his shoulder, and the quiet “Oh” is too much, too soft and understanding when all Santi wants to do is punch something or someone, or run, or do _something _that isn’t a catalogue of his failings over the past few days.

He pushes his chair back, uncaring of Wolfe’s grunt of surprise, paces around his desk with hands clenched into fists, tries not to throw everything off his desk or start throwing them around the room. He’s aware of Wolfe watching silently, a statue standing in judgement of him and it’s just _too much_.

“Nic.” Santi barely hears Wolfe speak at first as he paces up and down in front of his desk, running his hands through his hair.

“Nic. Santi.”

“WHAT?” Finally Santi explodes, whirling on Wolfe in anger, only for it all to drain away as he realises Wolfe is holding his arm at an awkward angle, and of course, he’d said about the sphinx, but this is something Santi can do, something he can help with.

“You’re hurt, let me see.” He’s already walking back around the desk, but Wolfe backs away.

“No, I’m fine, don’t worry.”

Before Santi knows precisely how, Wolfe has managed to manoeuvre them so Santi finds himself backed into the chair behind the desk once more. The angry impulse to move drains as suddenly as it came, and he drops into the chair heavily, sighing deeply as he does. Wolfe wraps his arms around him, and Santi accepts the comfort this time, leaning his head on his partners stomach and closing his eyes. They stay like that for a while in silence, until Wolfe breaks it.

“Can I convince you to come home?”

Home. It seems like such a foreign concept to Santi at the moment that it takes him a second to realise what Wolfe means.

“Is it still there?”

A light laugh runs through Wolfe. “I may have pulled some strings as partner of the Lord Commander to get one of your soldiers to go and check. It still stands. Come home, Nic.”

Santi pulls back a little then. “I have to write these-”

“That's what you have second-in-commands for, isn't it? I'm sure Alamasi won't object to doing her fair share.”

It's a tempting argument. After a moment, Santi bows his head and gives in, before looking up at Wolfe once more. “I have to write Zara's letter first.” The very thought sticks in his throat, threatens what little composure he has left, but he gathers himself and squares his shoulders like he's going into battle. He won't let anyone else write this one. He can't.

Wolfe doesn't argue, just nods. “Of course.” He goes to the other side of the desk and sits in the chair there and pulls his own Codex out. “Give me some names.”

“What?”

“I know the form well enough. Let me take some of this for you, love.”

It takes Santi the best part of half an hour to write the letter. He starts over three times, debates every word, then starts over for a fourth time. The battle between formal and personal is a hard one, and at the end Santi isn't sure how successful he's been at not being too stiff, or overly informal. He signs it off _Lord Commander Niccolo Santi_, and then pens another note, much shorter. 

_I'm so sorry.  
Nic._

Three words seem so inadequate, but they're all he can muster right now. Santi sends the letters, pressing his Library band to the Codex, and then, after a moment's hesitation, crosses himself. This was apparently the signal Wolfe was waiting for because he looks up from his own Codex.

“Ready?”

Santi nods. They walk home together in silence, through the smoke and the organised chaos that comes after a battle, each lost in their own thoughts. Santi is so in his own head that he's surprised when they come to a halt outside their front door, something he hasn't seen in -

“When was the last time we were here?” he asks even as he pats his pockets and realises he has no idea where his key is.

Wolfe hesitates for a moment, not responding until he uncovers the spare key they keep in a hidden brick to the side of the door. “The night before Rome. With that damned Mesmer.”

A lifetime ago.

* * *

Four hours of sleep is not nearly enough to start to pay back the distressing sleep debt the two have built up in the past few weeks and months, but together and in their own bed, it feels like heaven. It would be more, but both are woken by simultaneous chiming from their Codecies. Santi has never felt a stronger desire to throw the thing across the room and hide under the blanket, but instead he picks up and steels himself for whatever he is required for this time. What he sees instead is a thousand times worse.

_Letter addressed to Captain Niccolo Santi, marked ‘In Case of Death’, from Lieutenant Zara Cole. Sent following her death in Alexandria. _

Zara's handwriting is neat and familiar, and it hits like a punch to the chest. Ignoring Wolfe shifting beside him to get to his own Codex, Santi gets up and walks into the living area. He can't do this next to Wolfe. He can't do this, full stop. Out of all the losses of the past few weeks, this one hurts the most. Murasaki was a blow to his profession more than anything, the fact that so early in his role as Lord Commander he failed to protect the Archivist, even though logically he knows there's very little he could have done. He loved Morgan, almost like a daughter, but her death was her choice and he wouldn't – couldn't – take that from her with his own guilt about failing to see a way around it. He'd taken enough from her already. But Zara was entwined in every aspect of his life, had been for twenty years from that first night they'd shared together in training to that last moment on the roof only days before. They'd risen through the ranks together, celebrated each other's victories, commiserated failed missions, grieved lost soldiers. Santi loves Wolfe with all his heart, but the man is a Scholar, not a soldier, no matter how many war zones he's a veteran of, and there's some things only Zara understands. Understood.

Santi sits at the table, and is surprised to find himself there, coffee mug in hand, the morning routine apparently so ingrained he'd done it without noticing. His Codex lies in front of him, so innocuous for what it contains, and he can't put if off any longer.

_Dear Nic,_

_If you’re reading this, I’ve probably done something stupid and got myself killed. It almost certainly wasn’t your fault, but on the off chance it was, I don’t blame you. (But also fuck you.)_

_It won’t be a surprise when I say I love you. Not from the moment we met or anything sappy like that, but I love you. You have been my best friend for a long time, and I can’t have hoped for a better man to have served with. If you haven't made Lord Commander yet (why not? Has the old fuck not died yet?) then I'll be there when you make your oath. I wouldn't miss that for the world, and not even death can stop me._

_I wasn't sure what to include in this letter. Fond memories, last farewells? Both options seem a little too morbid for my liking, so instead I'll keep it short and sweet. Look after yourself, and if I see you here before you're old and grey, I'll send you right back._

_Love you._

_Zara._

Santi surfaces from the letter when the words become too blurred to read, and sees Wolfe stood at the end of the hall way, leaning against the wall with his own cup of coffee in his hand.

“Was it-?”

He doesn't finish, there's no need, and Santi nods, unable to speak. He closes his Codex and Wolfe comes to stand next to him, running a hand through Santi's hair as he leans into the contact. They stay there in silence for a while, Wolfe's hand moving gently through Santi's hair as he rests his head on Wolfe's stomach, until Santi remembers Wolfe's Codex had chimed as well.

“What was your message?”

“Oh, nothing important.” It's a deflection, and if Santi weren't so tired he would follow it up, but he hasn't the energy and so leaves the matter be.

“We should get back.” He says reluctantly. “Well. I should. I have an army to command.”

“We both should. I left the kids, they'll want to know where we are.”

The kids. Jess. Santi had almost forgotten about the boy collapsing in the Archives, lips blue and skin grey.

“Jess?”

“Thomas is working on more of the antidote, but he's alive.”

A tiny piece of the guilt Santi feels lightens at the news. Only a shred, but better than nothing.

“Good. That's good.” They stay in silence for a moment longer, before Santi levers himself out of the chair. No more time for guilt and grief, there are more important things to look to. The protection of his new Archivist, and God willing he'll do a better job this time round. Rooting out the elements of the Garda still loyal to the old regime. Funeral arrangements. Santi has always functioned better with a plan, and so he forces himself into battle once more.

* * *

_Letter addressed to Lord Commander Niccolo Santi, from Lieutenant Zara Cole. Never sent._

Dear Nic,

I heard you’re Lord Commander. You were always made for that title, I'm sorry I missed it. I’m not sorry for doing what I did. We used to share the same ideals, but then your Scholar designed what he designed, and everything changed. I don’t blame you for turning against the Library, as I hope you don’t blame me for turning against you. If we both survive this, maybe we can come to some shadow of what we used to have. I hope this is the change you wanted.

I'll always love you.

I'm not sorry.

Zara.

_Letter addressed to Scholar Christopher Wolfe, from Lieutenant Zara Cole. Sent following her death._

Look after him, Scholar.

Zara.


End file.
